Scenes from a Maternity Room
by cactusnell
Summary: John and Mary Watson await the delivery of their child. Surprises! Sherlolly. Loosely follows TEA AND TROUBLE and COFFEE AND QUESTIONS


Dr. Molly Hooper was working in the pathology lab at St. Bart's hospital when her phone indicated an incoming text from John Watson.

IS SHERLOCK WITH YOU – JW

HAVEN'T SEEN HIM – MH

MARY IS IN LABOR. WE'RE ON OUR WAY THERE – JW

Molly had a couple hours left in her shift, but it wouldn't be a problem to make a quick run upstairs to maternity to check on her dear friends. She arrived just as Mary Watson was being ensconsed in a beautifully appointed birthing suite. It seems it pays to be delivering the child of a St. Bart's attending physician. The room was lovely, softly lit. Only the lamps over the bed itself seemed to have a harsher hospital glare. The birthing bed itself looked deceptively like an ordinary bed, but Molly knew that it would convert, much like a Transformer, into an efficient natal device, complete with siderails, lifts, and a sufficiently torturous-looking pair of stirrups. A comfortable armchair was next to the bed and a couch and coffee table, strewn with current magazines, were on the other side of the room. Two large windows let in some gray London daylight.

As tranquil a setting as the room was trying to portray, it seemed to have the opposite effect on John. It certainly wasn't hot yet John was sweating. His face was flushed, and his hands seemed to shake. Mary, on the other hand, and for the moment at least, seemed almost serene. Maybe it was the drugs.

"I know what you're thinking, and no, I have not had any medication," Mary spoke softly as if the keep things on an even keel. "Look at him! You think I can afford to freak out with him in this condition?"

"How far into labor are you?" Molly asked.

"Not very far at all, but if John's going to have a heart attack over this, I prefer it to be at the hospital. I'm fine for now, but can you be here as I get closer. I don't think I can handle him alone."

Molly smiled supportively. "I'll be back as soon as my shift ends – about an hour and a half."

"Thanks, Molls," from both Watsons.

About an hour later Molly received another text.

HELP – MW

If Mary had the dexterity and calm to send the text herself it didn't seem possible that she was that close to delivery. John must be driving her crazy. Leaving a few minutes early wouldn't be a problem, so Molly returned the text as she gathered her things and left the lab.

ON MY WAY. PROBLEM? - MH

SHERLOCK – MW

Enough said, Molly thought as she hurriedly made her way upstairs.

Sherlock had made his way to St. Bart's as soon as he got the text. He had arrived just after Molly had taken her leave, striding down the hospital hallway as if he owned the place, Belstaff billowing and dark curls bouncing, as usual. He pushed open the door of the room without knocking, and loudly asked, "Have I missed anything?"

Mary noticed with dismay that he had his violin with him. 'No, Sherlock. And no violin!", Mary answered, her voice for the first time displaying some tension.

"'Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast'," Sherlock quoted William Congreve.

"Don't you mean 'beast'?", John corrected.

"Please don't correct me, John. Look it up!"

"Breast or beast, if you try to play that thing I'll throw it out the window."

"Don't be foolish, John, the windows don't open."

"They'll be plenty open, mate, once I toss you through one!"

Sherlock understood that this comment was most likely due to his friend's emotional state at the moment. He looked to Mary for support.

"I will rise from this bed of pain and help him, Sherlock!'

Sherlock placed the violin gently on the coffee table. "Just trying to be of assistance," he murmurred with an almost hurt expression.

It was at this point that Molly entered the suite. Surveying the faces in the room, she looked at Sherlock and inquired sweetly, "What have you done?"

"Nothing, Dr. Hooper," he said quietly as he slumped onto the couch.

The next hour of two passed without much trouble, most of Sherlock's unempathetic comments being ignored.

"You know, if you're going to complain so much, maybe you should have refrained from fornicating so much." A glare from John.

"People, virtually all life forms, have been doing this for eons. It can't be that bad". A glare from Mary.

Molly tried to lighten the situation by going for coffee. As she returned to the suite she was greeted by the sight of two security guards holding onto John as he swung unsuccessfully at Sherlock's face. It was obvious from the bruise on said face that he had already made contact at least once. Molly hurried to diffuse the situation.

"John, calm down! Why are you trying to hit Sherlock?"

"He's Sherlock bloody Holmes! Half of London wants to hit him!", but John did calm down. "He was trying to take pictures! Of Mary's private parts! For before and after comparisons, he said! Purely research, he said! Bloody hell!"

The security guards let him go, and he brushed himself off. He leaned in Sherlock and whispered, "You don't need to worry about me, chum, but you are seriously aggravating a former assassin who is currently in a significant amount of pain. Do you really want to go there?'"

Sherlock was about to answer, but was interrupted by a moan from Mary. "I think it's begun in earnest," she announced calmly. All eyes turned to her. John took hold of one hand, and Molly rushed to grab the other. Sherlock, however, reached into his suit pocket for his phone. Molly saw the action and motioned with her head that Sherlock should come over to her.

"Take hold of her hand," and she gently placed Mary's hand into his. At the next contraction Mary clenched so vigorously that he thought that he may never play the violin again. He glanced at John and was amazed at the grace with which he took the pain. John just looked into Mary's eyes and silently encouraged her. It was then Molly again took Mary's hand and whispered something in Sherlock's ear. Mary's contraction let up, and John looked over at his friends in gratitude for their support, all anger now gone.

Sherlock, already of a pale complexion, had turned completely white. He seemed stunned and shaken. Surely one, albeit almost bone-crushing, grip couldn't have rendered him this helpless. He almost looked like he was going to cry. Molly then ordered him to sit down before he fainted. He made his way to the couch, flopped down, and did not move until he heard the attending physician announce, "It's a girl!".

There was laughter, and tears, and general chaos. Sherlock once again suggested that Sherlock was, indeed, a girl's name. He was ignored. Mary was being coddled, and the baby was being passed around for all to admire. Sherlock nervously refused to hold the newborn, but stood behind Molly as she cuddled the babe in her arms. His arms slipped around her waist, but she didn't even notice when he splayed his long fingers across her lower abdomen. She smiled at John and returned the infant to her father.

"What the hell did you say to him in the middle of everything that made him go so white? I was as concerned for him as I was for Mary for a brief moment there."

"Nothing much. I simply told him I was pregnant. We'll probably have a replay of this situation in about seven months. Please try not to hit him next time."

"I'll try but there are no guarantees," John laughed and looked at Sherlock, still stunned, with his hands still carressing Molly's belly. He gently returned his baby to her mother. Sherlock and Molly. This really was a day for miracles.


End file.
